Laughter
by ZAPBETH
Summary: Even though death and destruction were surrounding us, waiting for the precise moment to strangle us, even though war was raging in full speed, we still found it within our capacity to laugh aloud. Both she and I don’t laugh anymore. [oneshot, RemusTonks]


I used to love to laugh, but now I find laughter, mostly my own, hallow and dry. Laughter used to bubble up, as if it were essential to life; it used to engulf everybody's life. Laughter leaked from all the pores in our skin, gently sliding out to brighten the day. Even thought death and destruction were surrounding us, waiting for the precise moment to strangle us, even though war was raging in full speed, we still found it within our capacity to laugh aloud.

Both she and I don't laugh anymore. I haven't the heart to carry on chuckling with amusement after their deaths, I'm afraid to admit. And she? What excuses are there for her? I convinced myself that she's much too young to know tragedy, too young to forget how to laugh, but now, as obvious as the sunlight, it's written in her eyes that my words are incorrect.

I denied her time and time again; what else could I have done in that situation? I had found myself cornered by her with the _awful_ purple hair, and to tell the truth, I panicked. I blurted out the first words that came to mind when pondering her questions. And, as not to seem like a liar, I kept true to my previous words, even if I didn't think they were clearly logical myself. After false attempts at trying to get me to change my mind, she finally swallowed my "too old, too dangerous, too poor" idiocy without further complaint.

Then, something I had never considered took place. I simply assumed that she would move on with her life and possibly find another man before the year was out, but something terrible happened. It seemed as though she took those words as personal insults and attempted to lure me back by making herself prettier, but she found that instead of changing into a nice red, her hair changed into a rather ugly brown. Her skills had diminished greatly in a short period of time.

Slowly, as if adjusting itself to a major change, her spell-work and ability morphed itself into a weak state. Her Patronus, the last bit of powerful magic she could accomplish, changed its form to a rather odd shape, which I found disturbingly similar to my own werewolf form. I told myself I could do nothing for her during this trial, and I kept away at all costs.

When I had to be near her, I avoided her eyes, knowing that they'd make me feel guilty for saying those words to her. I didn't want to be sucked in by the depths of her eyes, which I have since discovered. Even though I already did, I didn't want to know and understand how much effect my words had on her. I convinced myself that this phase too would pass with the needed time.

Her laughter never leaks anymore. And even worse than that, she hardly ever laughs about anything anymore. Even when talking about normal and unusual happenings, her eyes are out of focus, and I can tell that her mind's wandering about from subject and subject. She doesn't listen to anything that's not addressed to her, and I have reason to doubt that she listens to even those words now. She's been ridiculed, and she has upset people in this period of her life.

I can't stand to think that I'm the reason why she's like that. She doesn't break things anymore; she's not like her old clumsy self, the self I loved, even though nothing can come out of that love. She doesn't herself with the same air as before; her air used to be filled with confidence, even though she was clumsy. She doesn't eat much anymore, and seeing her do this, I too have lessened how much I eat.

I wish I didn't have eyes; I find that I don't really want to see how much my words affected her. My eyes have become a burden when she's in the room. I wish I didn't have ears; I don't want to hear her silence, her lack of laughter. Even when other people are talking, her silence is always the thing that hits me right off the bat. I don't want to have memories; I don't want to remember how she used to be. I don't want to continue to understand how much she's changed.

I miss her, and if I had known that it would do this much damage to her character, I would probably thought more about the words that I so rudely spoke to her. I would probably realize how untrue they would, even if they were to protect both her and me. And as selfish as it sounds, I don't want to give away my heart and then injure or… kill… the one I gave it to. I couldn't handle that, I just couldn't.

I care about her, but no, I can't allow myself to tell her that.


End file.
